


In Concert

by Mertiya



Series: Hackers AU [3]
Category: Thunderbolt Fantasy 東離劍遊紀 (TV)
Genre: M/M, Multi, Music, Rofu's back in the game, Short One Shot, lin is low-key genderfluid, supportive boyfriends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-15
Updated: 2019-06-15
Packaged: 2020-05-12 10:29:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19227340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mertiya/pseuds/Mertiya
Summary: Lang's first concert in the US.





	In Concert

 

           Làng took a long, deep breath and found Líng Yá handing him his water bottle. He hadn’t had stage fright this bad in literal years, but then he hadn’t been doing basically his very first show all over again in literal years. It was weird, how much he had relied on all his fans back home; it wasn’t like he ever met most of them, and it wasn’t like he didn’t _have_ American fans. But his fans in China spoke his language, and by now he was rather used to at least the kinds of things they posted about him. He hated to be back to relying on Líng Yá and Shāng to check his social media, but although his English was starting to improve, it definitely wasn’t yet good enough. “C’mon,” Líng Yá said when he complained. “It’s not like you aren’t gonna have a social media manager again pretty soon.” True, but it was the principle of the thing.

            “Are Shāng and Lin here?” he asked quietly, because if he was going to be back to unpleasant shivers and the strange, choked feeling in his throat that made him wonder if he would be able to get out a note, having someone to focus on in the concert hall crowd would be—very beneficial.

            “I saw Shāng around earlier, dunno about Lin. Shāng said he’d be there soon.”

            Lovely. Unsurprising, Làng supposed. When had Lin ever been on time for anything in his life? He was probably high as a kite. And—as long as Shāng was there. Làng shut his eyes and remembered the way Shāng had kissed him in the morning and held him close and told him he was going to be fine.

            _You’ve done a thousand concerts before_ , he reminded himself. _This one is no different_. But he could still feel the strings of his guitar cutting into his hand because he was clenching it so hard. He clenched his jaw, opened his eyes.

            “You ready?” Líng Yá asked, cracking his neck from side to side.

            “I’m ready,” Làng told him.

            The stage lights were hot on his neck and bare chest. “You know you don’t hafta wear an open shirt if you’re not comfortable with it,” Líng Yá had told him, but Làng had given him a fierce glare.

            “I’m not ashamed of who I am,” he told him; surprisingly, it was Lin who backed him up when Shāng and Líng Yá both made concerned noises.

            “He’s very dashing shirtless, you know,” Lin had said lazily and kissed his cheek. “Or naked, but that might be a bit much even for San Francisco.”

            The crowd was huge, bigger than Làng had expected. Sure, he was used to playing for big crowds, but that was back in China. Apparently Líng Yá or whoever he’d hired had done a fantastic job at advertising, but the sea of faces looking up expectantly made Làng ’s stomach heave again, and he scanned them rapidly, terrified, looking for Shāng or Lin.

            Shāng. There he was, a dark-haired anchor in a sea of strangers. He was wearing a black t-shirt with the name of some hackathon scrawled across the front of it, and his long, dark hair was held back from his face in a simple ponytail. Either he saw Làng looking or he knew he would be, because he flashed a thumbs’ up at the stage, and Làng ’s breathing started to even out a little, raised his guitar and looked over at Líng Yá, who was pulling his bass into position, and the drummer they’d hired, looking at him, waiting and ready. As he glanced at her, she flashed him a quick “okay” sign.

            He looked out over the crowd once more—and _this_ time he spotted Lin, just shouldering his way into position beside Shāng, and he nearly choked on his own spit. Lin wasn’t wearing his usual blue vest and jeans; instead, he had on a flaring white dress covered in pink ruffles. His white hair was pulled into two utterly adorable little pigtails, one on each side of his head, and capped with a little pink frill that must be pinned in place but looked as if it was just floating there. To top it all off, he had a rose-colored parasol held primly between his hands and as he looked up, he lifted one glove-colored hand and blew an elegant kiss at the stage.

            Somewhere in between “encouraged” and “turned on”, Làng raised his guitar and began to play, Líng Yá and their new drummer matching him perfectly. The music rose, coming to the end of the intro. This was it. This was the moment he found his place again. He opened his mouth.

            “ _THE LAND IS CLOAKED IN DEEPEST BLUE—”_

By the time he finished the song, the crowd was screaming, and he was sweating with effort, but he wasn’t trembling anymore. He wasn’t frightened. He was energized and full of music and—he looked out and found Shāng was grinning at him, pumping his fist, then signing, _Congrats, man, you did it!_ Lin was—Lin had pulled his skirt up a touch, enough to show his knee, and was giving him a very flirtatious looking wink. Then he elbowed Shāng and murmured something in his ear. Shāng sighed, pinched the bridge of his nose between two fingers, and then signed, _He says he’ll bring the sex and drugs, and you bring the rock and roll. I may strangle him before you get home._

            Làng ’s entire face broke out into a grin as he hefted his guitar again, tipped the microphone forward, and said, in accented English that he’d practiced probably more times than it warranted, “This one’s for my boyfriends!”

            And he began to sing.


End file.
